


No Man Left Behind

by EdwardNotSoLittle



Category: Strike Back
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Blood and Torture, Captivity, Drugged Character, Episode Fix-it: 4.1, Graphic Description, Interrogation, Kidnapping, M/M, Psychological Torture, Rachel Dalton being a bitch, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rescue Missions, Serious Injuries, scared!baxter, whump!Baxter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-01-02 10:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21160505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdwardNotSoLittle/pseuds/EdwardNotSoLittle
Summary: In all honesty, Baxter would have been a lot more at ease if Dalton had just waited to do this mission when Damien and Michael came back from their vacation.Now here he was in Beirut, Lebanon with a bitchy Dalton, trying to find intel on a known terrorist leader Al-Zuhari.Deep in the back of his head ever since he boarded that damn plane, he’d had a bad feeling about this mission. He had a feeling that this mission was going to go off the damn walls... even if Damien wasn't with them to have his bad luck sticking with him like a curse.Boy does he hate being right all the time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AgtSpooky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgtSpooky/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Triple Play](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20603294) by [AgtSpooky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgtSpooky/pseuds/AgtSpooky). 

> Second Strike Back fic. 
> 
> Please note: I have only been able to see a  
handful of episodes because of shitty internet connections.
> 
> Any OOC or timeline screw ups is not intended and will probably be edited later.

Everything was pissing him off today.

Every single god damn thing.

Small things.

Stupid things.

Just fucking everything.

Baxter was stressed, he was tired, he was nervous, and he was agitated.

In all honesty he would have been a lot more at ease if Dalton had just waited to do this mission when Damien and Michael came back from their vacation.

But noooo… the woman was as patient as a squirrel.

So it was just them trying to find intel on a known terrorist leader Al-Zuhari.

Deep in the back of his head, ever since he boarded that damn plane he’d had a bad feeling about this mission.

They were renting at a cheap hotel on the edge of Beirut and though he wanted to conserve money and rent a room with two beds, Dalton gave him the most infuriating, judgmental and bitchy glare ever directed at him, and decided they’d get rooms next to each other.

As if he was fucking interested in her.

Yeah right, that’d be like putting his dick in a fucking meat grinder.

Unfortunately, that plan had been shot down with the fact that there was some sort of event going on in the area at the time they booked the damn room a month ago, and because of that their rooms were separated by three others.

So he had to trudge all the way down the damn hall.

He’d ran and got some food for the two of them. Dalton in there prettying her damn face, ordering him to run errands.

God he wanted to tell the woman off.

Did she not get the same vibe he did that things were going to go very badly?

When he’d gotten back with the food she was dressed in her casual disguise and seemed in a hurry.

“I got food-”

“Not now Baxter, I have to run somewhere, I’ll be back in a couple hours and I expect your report when I get back.”

Now as he stood outside the door that had promptly been slammed in his face, food in hand, he couldn’t help his agitation from bubbling up from his mouth.

“You’re bloody fucking welcome!” he shouted wanting nothing more than to hurl the damn food carrier across the hallway. He didn’t though, instead he huffed out a breath and shoved his free hand into his pocket, digging around for his room key as he walked the small hall to his room.

Pulling the slim card out he swiped it once and the red light on the device flashed green as it opened with a click.

Liam let out a sigh, looking at his watch.

14:33.

Pulling a sandwich out of the food carrier, he wandered over to his laptop.

Dalton had their work laptop in her room, going over some documents or information or something.

Baxter was damn glad he brought his personal laptop for the trip. Of course he didn’t let Dalton know he was bringing it, the woman always nagging him when he would find something else to tinker with that wasn’t work related.

If he wants to play Space Invaders because he has everything else done, then by god he was going to play some bloody Space Invaders!

Right now he was needing to blow off some steam and pissy with Dalton’s moods, he decided to play some Galaga while he waited to deal with her royal highness.

He loosened the black tie he’d partnered with the blue dress shirt, tossing it onto the bed and let out another sigh as he slumped into his chair.

Michael and Damien would have this mission done already.

They’ve been here for almost a month and nothing.

No leads at all.

Lost in his thoughts he took an idle bite of his sandwich, munching away as the machine started.

The team's star duo would definitely have this done already, they should have waited.

When the door next door slammed shut and he heard brisk footsteps make their way past his door he huffed in irritation.

Honestly, the nerve of that woman.

Silence filled the room now and it caused a feeling of unease started to fill his gut.

That feeling like he was being watched and he fidgeted nervously glancing over his shoulder for a second in paranoia.

Shaking his head, he scowled.

_ 'Baxter you're just fucking tired so everything seems suspicious.'_

It was too bad his own attempt at reassurance didn't quell that feeling of dread deep in the pit of his stomach.

That nagging feeling that something was going to happen. A feeling that this mission was going to go off the damn walls even if Damien wasn't with them to have his bad luck sticking with him like a curse.

_'The poor sod really does have the worst luck.'_

Musing on this fact forced a reluctant grin upon his face.

He nibbled on his sandwich a bit more before setting it aside, getting up to move to the mini-fridge beside the small bathroom to grab a beer.

Liam felt a great frustration welling in his chest at the fact that he was sitting here like a lost animal always on the look out for danger.

There was nothing here. No one was watching them. Dalton had made sure their mission was secure. It was just nerves.

As he opened the fridge his nerves flared again when he realized that the booze had been left in Dalton’s room, they had still been meaning to divide them up.

Kicking the table leg in frustration, he crossed his arms over his chest as he thought to himself.

The chime of his computer turning on snapped his attention and he let out a sigh as he returned to it.

Just as he was about to sit back in is chair a notification window popped up on the screen.

The notification made him absolutely livid.

**Microsoft Critical Update Notification**

** New critical updates are available for your computer. Microsoft strongly**   
**recommends that you install these updates now.**

**To read about and install these updates, click "View Critical Updates".**   
**The Windows Update site will guide you through the installation**   
**process.**

**If you would like to postpone installation for 24 hours, click "Notify Me**   
**Later". This message will appear tomorrow when you connect to the**   
**Internet. Postponing installation of critical updates is not**   
**recommended.**

“Oh you bloody piece of shit, mate. Of course you need to fucking update!” he growled lowly, violently clicking on the already highlighted View Critical Updates button and pushing his chair in.

He didn’t have a key to Dalton's room, but god damn he was not going to sit here. No, he was going to go get a six pack or something because this day just fucking sucked.

Surely by the time he got back, the damn update would be done.

_ ‘Hopefully.’_

Grumbling angrily to himself he grabbed his ‘credentials’ and tucked his glock into his hidden holster, and stepped into the bathroom to grab a one of those small plastic cups for water to rinse his mouth and get loose shit out of his teeth.

That was the worst thing in the damn world, standing there with a journalist disguise jotting things down on a paper and then being told you have a piece of celery stuck between your teeth.

Heaving a sigh, he made his way out of the bathroom, flicked the light off, and left the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS RAPE!!**
> 
> Regarding this chapter
> 
> Italics - are thoughts except for in the radio transmission. 
> 
> Bold - are radio transmission dialogue
> 
> Bold italics - are dialogue that was spoken in Arabic that a character has been able to translate.

Balancing beer in his hand and a book in his arm, Liam let a huff as he pulled the key to his room from his pocket.

Letting himself in he froze when he heard voices behind him down the hall.

Immediately his blood ran cold and paranoia, he hoped, hit him hard.

The two men walking down the carpeted hallway... he recognized one of them as one of their attempted lead sources.

He'd 'interviewed' the man once already.

As he'd stared his door had swung closed again with an audible lock from the room device.

_'Bollocks! What the bloody hell is he doing here!?'_ his mind panicked as he moved the key in its slot.

Quickly he moved to swipe the key again hoping to get into the safety of his room and praying to God he wasn't recogniz-

"You!" a heavy accented voice spoke the English.

Too late.

He turned his head to acknowledge the call, feigning a confused stare as he observed them.

Both of them approached and he took a step back as he caught the look of pure hate in the man's eyes.

"Me?" he asked stupidly.

All at once he felt something hard jamming into the center of his back and he frozen instantly.

A shocked gasp escaped him as he dropped the handle on the beer, the box landing with a dull thud. The book fell to the floor right beside it.

_'Oh shit...'_

"You run. I shoot." a third voice spoke directly behind him.

Someone had snuck up on him.

"Look mate, if it's money you want, take it... I... my billfold, it's in my back pocket."

The man in front of him walked over and plucked the room key from his hand, letting himself in and the gun pressed against his back violently ordering him to move.

It was here he decided to make his move.

He jerked his elbow back catching the man's side with brutal force. The attacker's arm shot up clocking him in the temple with a nasty pistol whip, but adrenaline pumping through him he didn't even feel the reeling wave of dizziness it normally would have caused.

No, instead he yanked his other elbow up where it collided with the underside of the man's arm and sent the gun flying out of his hand.

Now!

He spun around shoving the stranger aside before breaking into a dead sprint down the hall.

The men were shouting and he could hear footsteps behind him in pursuit.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Just as he made to turn at the end of the hallway two more armed men rounded the corner before him.

He didn't have time to fully stop and instead he crashed straight into the open arms of one who held fast.

Rough hands spun him back around and though he struggled, strong arms circled him pinning his arms to his sides.

The man he'd disarmed was stomping towards him with a look of rage.

"Look just tell me what you--ahhh!" his words were cut off by a sharp punch to the jaw that had blood filling his mouth.

A large hand clamped over his mouth as he was dragged back down the hall to his room.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

There were too many men here that were trained in combat, himself included!

Reeling from a blow to his temple he was knocked on his ass.

The steel toed boot that collided into his chest knocked him flat on his back, his head colliding with the edge of the small coffee table snapping his neck forward painfully before he fully met the ground.

Staring at the underside of the table he saw the small device he'd planted there as a precaution.

It was a beacon of sorts, a distress signal that would let Zero know to tell Dalton he was in trouble.

Thank God for his paranoia.

Hands grabbed at his ankles and he barely had time to switch the device live before he was dragged out from underneath the table, staring up at the man he'd once interviewed.

The man looked mildly amused as he looked at his badge. "Milo Gallagher."

"Yes? What do you want Dhaakir."

"You remember? That is a surprise considering you can not remember your own name."

Oh no.

"I'm afraid I don't know what mean, my name is Milo Gallagher, I’m Associ-argh!”

A sharp punch collided with his face and a large hand tangled into his hair.

"You are a spy! Tell me who you are!"

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**~ The Crib ~ **

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Beep. Beep. Beep beep. Beep.

Looking up from the tracking on Dalton’s com piece Julia’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

That blinking blue light.

Wait wasn’t that one of those beacons Baxter had created?

That man had been super paranoid and antsy about going on this mission with Dalton and she understood why, she didn’t rust Dalton much either.

She pressed the button besides the blinking light and put her headset on after connecting it to the jack port.

A bit of static crackled before she could clearly make out voices.

** “You have made a mistake. I’m just a journalist!”**

_An obvious sign of a scuffle could be heard and she could hear Baxter crying out in pain._

Shit! This was bad!

Quickly she pulled up the tracking window to find out where Dalton was, she needed to get her ass back to that hotel.

“Hang on Baxter. I’m working as fast as I can.” she mumbled softly.

**“Please! I do not know what you want me to say!”**

**“Your name and the name of your comrade!”** _a voice demanded._

**“Who? I don’t know who you mean! I don’t have a partner!”**

She could hear different voices speaking in Arabic and some of the stuff she was able to decipher made her blood run cold.

_ **‘This spy’s pretty enough. Maybe we should make use of that bed there, maybe then he’ll talk.’** _

_ **‘Don’t worry, I already plan to.’ ** _

Oh no.

_More sounds of a scuffle and she could hear Baxter’s grunts and shouts as he fought against them._

** “Stop! What are you doing!? Please! You have made a mistake!”** _when Liam’s voice sounded again it sounded panicked._

_ ** ‘Grab his hands and shut him up.’** _

Finally Dalton picked up on her com.

“Bravo, this is Zero, over.”

**“Zero, this is Bravo.”**

The sound of Baxter screaming in pain and begging for help snapped her out of her professional radio routine.

“Dalton! Baxter’s in trouble! You need to get back to the hotel!”

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**~ Beruit, Lebanon ~**

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Liam watched nervously as he sat pinned to the back of the chair by two of the five men who’d cornered him.

They held his shoulders tight with a gun to his head as the two men before him spoke in Arabic.

He wasn’t fully fluent but he could make out certain words and it was not making this easy for him and he was freaking out.

When they turned towards him again they motioned to the two men holding him and he was roughly hoisted up by his arms.

Much to his horror they started to drag him towards the bed and he heard a couple belt buckles.

“Stop! What are you doing!? Please! You have made a mistake!”

Oh he fought, he was fighting with everything he had! Thrashing, kicking, scratching, anything he could managed but there were too many of them.

A knife was suddenly digging into his side and he screeched as the blade was dragged violently down his ribs tearing through his shirt and into his flesh.

Blood was immediately pouring forth but still he kept fighting, kicking and squirming desperately.

“No! No stop! Someone help!”

One of the men snarled something in Arabic and immediately one of them was clamping a strong forceful hand over his mouth and another was ripping the case off of one of the pillows.

“Mmmpph! Mmnnn!”

Someone was messing with his belt and he lashed out with one last burst of adrenaline, he praised himself for his flexibility as he was able to jerk his legs up high enough to kick the fuck holding his mouth shut right in the jaw, which made a sick snapping sound and he stumbled back with a garbled cry of pain.

The men were shocked by his sudden burst of strength and while they were recovering from their surprise he threw his weight to the side.

He had almost made it off the bed when the knife slammed into his ankle and he roared.

“Ahhhhhrrrgh! Oh bloody Christ! You sick fucks! I don’t know anything!”

A harsh grasp on his hair made him cry out and thick wadded up fabric was shoved into his mouth and damn near halfway down his throat until his eyes burned.

_‘No! No! This can’t be happening!’ _

The clinking of his belt as hands moved beneath his hips were all the confirmation he needed and he was screaming into the gag, he was thrashing and fighting but there were too many of them holding him down.

It didn’t matter how many times they told him to hold still or pistol whipped him to try to get him to do so, he was absolutely wild with panic.

Dhaakir the man in charge was speaking again.

When his pants were pulled down and yanked off his ankles, he was flipped over by strong hands that were now pulling his shirt open to reveal his torso, his belly was fluttering wildly in his panic.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

** ~ The Crib ~**

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_ ** ‘I want to see the little spy cry. Turn him over.’** _

Julia felt tears gathering in her own eyes as she heard her comrade’s desperate and incomprehensible pleas.

**“I hear British dogs like you like this a lot.”**

Where was Dalton! How could she be so irresponsible to travel that damn far from him! They were supposed to have a certain distance for safety reasons!

That was when she heard an ear piercing scream she had to take off her headset and wipe some tears away.

“Hang in there Liam, the major should be coming soon. Please hang in there.”

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**~ Beruit, Lebanon ~**

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Glancing down he got a good look at the Lebanese man before him and the cock that stood already hard between his tan thighs and he wiggled pitifully with a despairing groan.

Dhaakir smirked, “I hear British dogs like you like this a lot.”

Everything was coming crashing down around him now, he knew there was nothing he could do to stop this.

Strong hands gripped his thighs and he squeezed his eyes tightly closed, fingernails digging into his palms, as he felt the man’s hardness lining up against him.

With one swift snap of his hips Dhaakir had buried himself balls deep inside him and he screamed with nothing but absolute suffering as he was split in half.

Oh god, it was the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life. A flash of white hit his vision hard and then floating black specs as the man above him sighed in content.

“Mm… pretty good for a filthy spy.” Dhaakir sneered.

Tears dripped from his eyes as he bawled hysterically, his breaths felt short and not enough, his head was reeling from the pain.

This was sick.

It was so, so sick and he just wanted it to stop.

He could have prevented this if he’d just given them what they wanted…

_‘NO Baxter you won’t._

No he wouldn’t, even despite this, he knew he wouldn’t.

Even if he did they’d kill him anyway.

He could feel hot blood trickling down his thighs and the man’s pace was absolutely brutal as he pounded into him.

They should have waited for Michael and Damien. He knew it.

He tried to think of something, anything, anything to take him away from this place.

All at once a phone rang and he felt the man slow his thrusts to answer it.

There were a couple sentences spoken in Arabic then a couple shouts and the man growled as he hung up the phone.

When the next words that came into the room were spoken he felt his blood turn to ice in his veins.

"Tie him up. We're taking him with us."

A blunt object hit him in the side of the head and everything went black.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

** ~ The Crib ~ **

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Julia rang Dalton again and she picked up on the third try.

**"What Richmond! I'm moving as fast as I ca-" **

"Well move faster! You need to get there! They're on the move and they're taking Baxter with them!!!" she cried urgently.

**"Shit. Copy that."** Dalton gruffed and Julia heard the distinct sound of tires screeching before she hung up the phone.

This whole mission had just gone to shit.


	3. Chapter 3

The hit to his head didn't knock him out for long it seemed because he woke up slung over one the men's shoulders as they walked through the dingy parking lot. 

Oh god, his whole backside was on fire! Each step the man took jostled that horrible throbbing ache.

Liam wasn't sure his mind had fully registered what had happened in that hotel room, because every time he pondered over it his brain seemed to shut down and switch immediately to his current situation.

Almost like a distraction.

Denial maybe? Or perhaps adrenaline?

His hands were bound behind his back with what felt like duct tape and his ankles were in a similar state, except the restraints were causing him more pain from the knife that had been stabbed clean through his ankle and then ripped our earlier. 

What was taking Dalton so long!? 

They were going to kill him at this rate!! 

A brief squawk of a car alarm being unlocked filled his ears and he squirmed on the man's shoulder desperately, he knew he couldn't escape but if he could just make the task harder for them... if he could just buy a little more time.

"He's awake." the man holding him gruffed as he came to a stop.

"Who cares. He's not going anywhere and he won't be able to see where we're going as it is. We have to go, the boss is waiting."

_'No! No they can't! Dalton won't know where to find me!'_ his mind screamed and he thrashed viciously, his protests coming incomprehensible. 

Rough hands situated their hold on his waist and he shrieked as they pressed into the deep, still bleeding gash from that blade.

"Shut up!" the man hissed yanking him off his shoulder, and throwing him down roughly into what appeared to be the trunk of a sedan.

He fought against the tape around his wrists and ankles, his arms straining as he tried to get himself upright but another hand pressed firmly down on his side to knock him off balance.

_'No! Dalton! Get me the fuck out of here!' _

Nothing mattered or even made a difference, not his screams, not his struggles, his determination.

Nothing.

Nothing made a difference and he caught one last glimpse of the outside before they slammed the trunk shut.

A few more harsh words were spoken in Arabic before the men got in the car and the engine roared to life.

When the vehicle began to move he let out a miserable, defeated groan his head resting back against the interior of his temporary confinement.

This was it! Wherever they were taking him, he was going to die. 

It was how he was going to go out.

He should have stayed behind his computer, tried to stay out of fieldwork.

They should have waited.

Now he was going to die because Dalton was so damn impatient.

A slight buzzing in his back pocket stirred him to life again.

His pager?

It was vibrating at a steady frequency, something he'd designed for the team himself, it let out Morse code like beats for silent communication.

On the outside it looked like a normal pager, but it wasn't and they rarely used them.

Never had to.

Closing his eyes he tried to focus on the rhythms, having slight trouble with his anxiety skyrocketing because of his situation.

I... 

_'Oh god this is hard… um..'_

..... 

... See....

His eyes widened a fraction and hope began to fill him.

.... ..... You... 

Oh thank God! 

The major had her eye on him! 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The car ride felt like it flew by so fast, even though realistically it must have been an hour or so.

When light flooded into the small cramped compartment it was blinding! 

Squinting and turning onto his back he tried to kick blindly with his bound legs, wounded ankle or not, but that only resulted in both being grabbed a punishing pressure placed on his bloody foot.

Yelling in both pain and anger, whether they could understand or not he didn't care, he twisted his torso back, jerking fiercely against the strong grip and it was just as he did that he was violently yanked from the back of the car and he felt himself falling to the ground.

A heavy blow struck his right temple and it took him a moment to realized that his head had collided with the bumper on his decent before he landed heavily in the dirt. Flecks of blood clots from a previous bloody nose came spraying out along with the precious oxygen that had been in his lungs as he was winded. 

Hot crimson began to pour freely down the side of his face to match his swollen, bruised, and bloody eye. He’d felt blood trickling from his left eye earlier, it was a weird sensation like he was crying but the liquid was far too warm.

Broken blood vessels maybe? 

He was still seeing black patches across his vision, still trying to get air in his lungs when hands grabbed him by his shoulders.

A searing, stabbing pain erupted in his lower abdomen and it shot all the way up his spine as he was forced into a sitting position. It was a pain so intense that it made his eyes water on reflex and a shrill yelp was drawn from his throat, very shrill, even if it was muffled by the gag.

God the noise... it made him want to die of embarrassment.

"Get up!" 

the man growled shifting to grab a handful of hair which he yanked on to lead him, as if that would make him move faster.

Well it did, sort of.

Still winded, bound feet scrambling for purchase underneath him, plus still blinded for the most part, he stiffened under their treatment as he was forced onto his knees.

"We're going to give you one more chance to tell us the truth." Dhaakir explained. Baxter thought he could vaguely make out a blow torch in his hand.

Oh god.

He tried to calm his breathing he had to be calm.

Dalton would be here soon.

Wait.

A feeling of dread suddenly filled him at a realization though.

What was she even going to be able do about this? 

She was an army major... maybe she could successfully manage a shoot out.

Dhaakir nodded to another man who took hold of his jaw. 

The man’s companion peeled off the duct tape, that had been keeping him from spitting out the pillowcase still been cruelly stuffed in his mouth, from his lips and he hissed as the adhesive pulled at some stubble.

He stared wide eyed, wheezing still for breath as the wadded up fabric was eased from his mouth and tossed to the ground. 

Coughing and gasping desperately for air he took a moment to gather his bearings while his eyes became more adjusted to the brightness of the day.

Finally he looked up at the small group's leader with a nervous despair.

"Please-" 

Someone punched him across the face and he could feel his lip split open under their knuckles. 

"Shut up!" 

He didn't though and through the corner of his eye he could make out something in the front of the cornfield.

They weren't alone.

Maybe it was the major.

Swallowing nervously he began again, "You are making a mistake. I have told you, I am a journalist."

Dhaakir glared hatefully at him and began to mess with the blow torch controls, deciding on a flame setting.

Oh shit!

He tried to shuffle backwards on his knees but someone behind him gave him a kick to his wounded foot and so he stilled.

"You are making a mistake."

"The woman you were with, a journalist, too?"

It was here that Baxter wished more than anything he'd been good at theatre.

"I don't know who you mean." he insisted, eyes immediately going wide as the blow torch hissed to life with crackle.

As the flame was quickly moving towards his face he jerked back, squirming viciously, but when a ruthless hand from behind wound itself in the back of his hair at the base of his head he was forced to still as the man held him. 

Still he tried to inch away. Pale eyes wide and fearful, yet defiant.

No. No...

"Don't you know what we do with spies?" Dhaakir leered with amusement, sadistic glee laced into his voice.

_'Well my guess would be you beat the bloody snot out of them, rape them, kidnap them, torture them, and then finally kill them when you realize you won't get what you fucking want, but that might be just a hunch.'_ the Brit thought sarcastically.

Again he tried to inch back, trying to persuade one last time while he had the chance.

"You are making a mistake. My name is Milo Gallagher. I am Associated Press. Check my credentials!"

The blow torch was thrust forth against his face and he screamed a hot flames licked at the already sore and beaten flesh across his eye, though he knew that's what he'd been aiming for, thankfully he'd closed it in time.

"Ahhh!!! Stop!! Arrrrrghhh! I-I don't- know!" he wailed thrashing against the grip that held a handful of dark hair, not giving two shits about the pulling of hair being torn from its roots.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

God they moved so damn fast! 

She'd had to 'discretely' follow the small caravan of vehicles, an armoured beast of a thing, a van, and an armoured sedan. 

Of course when she'd gotten an idea of where they had been going she had to ditch the car she'd 'borrowed' and move on foot to prevent being spotted.

Three men were arguing in Arabic two of them with each other and the last one on the phone with someone.

An armed guard was standing beside the back of the sedan and she could hear a couple bangs and a heavily muffled voice from the trunk.

The guard slammed his fist on the surface in warning and the noises ceased completely.

_'Hang on Sergeant. I need an angle.'_

When the man on the phone hung up he gestured at the man by the car who flicked the latch and opened the storage compartment.

Instantly she saw lean, khaki-clad, bound legs dart up to try to kick at the fucker. 

The terrorist just scoffed in amusement, shouldered his rifle, and grabbed Baxter's bound ankles.

Dalton winced as she watched her man’s head smacked against the bumper when he was forcefully dragged from the trunk of the car, landing in the dirt with a pained groan.

Jesus Christ, Baxter looked awful. 

Hands and ankles bound with duct tape, gagged with tape over his mouth but from the looks of it he had something shoved inside it too. 

His face was beaten to a bloody pulp, right eye swollen shut with trails of blood that ran down his cheek from it, temple now bleeding profusely, even one of his ears was bruised and bloody. 

Dress shirt was torn and speckled with blood, unbuttoned a few buttons at the top revealing his chest, also decorated with blood and contusions. A long slash of a knife went up the right side of the blue fabric mingling it blue and red, no doubt he was wounded there. The bottom of his khakis on the left leg were coated in blood and she could see tear near the ankle where a knife had gone through it. She could now make out that only one of man's brown leather hiking boots was no longer the light brown, but a deep red. 

_'Shit, they crippled him. He won't be moving without help.'_ she noted, realizing that they'd purposely wounded him there to make it difficult for him to run.

Hopefully it wasn't permanent.

"Get up!" 

She could tell he was trying to recover from the bright sun as he was forced to his knees in the dirt. 

He struggled weakly against the man handling him, his nostrils flaring as he tried to get air.

"We're going to give you one more chance to tell us the truth." their apparent leader spat, blow torch in hand. 

Dalton watched as they removed the gag keeping their captive quiet and immediately her poor sergeant was gasping for breath, and soon trying to reason with the terrorists. 

_'That's right Sergeant... keep them busy.'_

She pulled her side arm out of its holster and took aim while Baxter continued to try to talk his way out his situation, insisting and pleading with them. 

Watching carefully with blood pumping through her ears, she waited for a clear shot. Though she tensed uncomfortably when the leader turned the blowtorch on.

_ ‘Shit… give me a shot… give me a shot you piece of shit...’_

Sergeant Baxter was straining and pulling yet he was still trying to keep his cover, but his eyes were screaming for help the poor man was scared shitless.

There! She had a shot!

_ ‘Eat this you son of a bitch.’_ she thought and with that she pulled the trigger.

_ -Click- _

Her mouth dropped open in silent horror and she looked at her gun in astonishment.

She… oh my god she had been in such a hurry she forgot to load her gun! 

Just as this realization came to her, she winced as a loud agonized and hysterical scream pierced the air.

Snapping her eyes back to her comrade she was horrified when she saw how his right eye was being brutally assaulted with the fire.

Oh God… there was nothing she could do.

Another car suddenly pulled up and a man got out.

The man looked important because he was dressed in a white suit.

Wait... she knew him!

“Kamali.” one of the men to the side called to the newcomer.

Kamali? 

As in Leo Kamali?

He began yelling at the men in Arabic, telling them to stop what they were doing.

The flame was pulled away from Sergeant Baxter’s face and the tortured man was a hysterical mess, he was sobbing in pain and cursing them out in whatever Arabic he knew, which wasn’t much. 

“Where is the woman!?” 

Kamali got the fucker’s attention and he finally left Baxter alone for the moment as he listened.

_** “He’s with Section 20, he won’t tell you anything here. We don’t have time for this right now.”**_

_** “What do you want us to do with him then?”**_

_ ** “Bring him with us, we can interrogate him there. He’ll break once Saleel works on him, they always do, after we can lure them out with him and we can be rid of another nuisance.”** _

“Oh shit.” she mumbled to herself pulling out her phone to record the fucker in charge of the whole thing.

Baxter was reeling with pain, but his eyes were flitting back and forth between the two men, clearly trying to decipher everything since he wasn’t as fluent in Arabian as she and Sergeant Richmond were. 

“You are making a mistake. I am a journalist.” he tried again, looking at Kamali with desperation, as if the man would actually listen to him.

Her sergeant flinched in surprise when Kamali pulled out a gun and approached him.

“Please… I am a journalist.” 

Kamali shook his head though staring down at him, “I know who you are Sergeant Baxter.” 

Dalton didn’t think she’d ever seen Liam’s eyes so big.

His mouth dropped open in horror.

The terrorist switched his hold on his gun to hold the barrel and leaned forward again. 

“I know everything.” 

With that the man slammed the handle of his pistol into the back of her sergeant’s head and he went down like a sac of potatoes, still, and totally out.

Gritting her teeth she watched silently as they loaded her man into the vehicle and after several minutes of Kamali giving instructions, they all dispersed and she was left alone.

Taking a deep breath she sighed and touched her com.

"Richmond, do you copy?"

**'Yes Major, I read you.'**

"Sergeant Richmond, I want you to find out where Scott and Stonebridge went."

**'Yes, ma'am. Major... Sergeant Baxter?'**

"Sergeant Baxter's been compromised. I couldn't get there in time, the fuckers took him." 

A lie, kind of, she was still having trouble believing she forgot to load her side arm.

This was on her.

That was clear.

Julia went silent for a long while and Dalton let out a sigh.

"Sergeant Richmond, find Scott and Stonebridge. I want you to bring them back so we can form a plan to recover Sergeant Baxter, If we move quick enough."

**'I'll get right on it.'**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know that the vehicle they took Baxter in was a van. Bite me. Sedans are better.
> 
> To answer any questions, yes Baxter's still in a state of shock about what happened in the hotel room that's why its not all registering.
> 
> As you can clearly see... I think Dalton is frankly quite useless and I have little care for her character. XD I BLAME HER!!!


	4. Chapter 4

When he awoke again he was disoriented and his mouth felt like cotton. His vision of blurry and he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open, his head felt like it was floating. 

He felt spectacularly tanked. 

Like he'd spent a night on the town.

"Oh..."

A fully body shiver ran through him and as he looked down all he saw was bleary colors of flesh, black, blue, and red.

It took his fuzzy mind a second to realize he was completely naked. 

What? No? Why was he...?

He tried to sit up but immediately found himself unable.

Something thick and leathery was secured tightly around his face across his mouth, blocking speech and pinning his head back against a steel headrest. 

His wrists and ankles were pinned down in a similar fashion to arm rests of a chair but said chair really felt more like a recliner with how his body was positioned.

It almost reminded Liam of a dentist's chair. 

This wasn't the dentist though, that much he knew.

Where was he? 

What was happening? 

Glancing around the room to the best of his ability, his vision was too blurry and things moved in double. He couldn't make anything out.

Tired. Oh God he was tired and his body felt so, so heavy.

His mind felt like it was ticking through sludge.

Why was he here? 

What happened?

Had he done something wrong?

As he let his vision become less swimming he heard a loud click of a latch that echoed loudly in his ears and he could hear footsteps approaching from somewhere behind him.

They got closer and closer until from the corner of his eye he could see someone standing beside the chair.

Fingers were prodding at his neck, stretching and manipulating skin.

It tickled and he instinctively tried to hunch his shoulders to prevent the stimulation but his restraints stopped that.

He flinched when he'd felt a quick pinch and another hand supporting his jaw.

Immediately he could feel fluid squeezing under his skin through the small puncture, the sensation enough made him nauseous and he let out a disoriented whine as he futilely tried to turn his head away.

The hand held tight though, and the leather pinning his head back didn't help at all.

"Relax." a deep voice with a thick accent he couldn't place barely reached his ears.

He did as he was told, too tired and too confused to think of anything else he could do.

The man's voice had a soothing factor to it in it's baritone-like timbre. 

In all honesty it reminded him of his dad back in Kerry.

Soon the hand pulled away and he heard the stranger walking away from him.

What was he doing?

It was around this time that he heard strange little tinks and clanks of glass. The small sounds brought him joy for some reason... they made him very happy with their presence.

Liam found himself mesmerized by the pleasant small chimes. 

They were like wine glasses meeting together in a cheers on New Years, or a pair of beers in celebratory of their team winning in a game of footie. 

He focused intently on the small and very welcome noises exhaling deeply through his nostrils.

Then they stopped.

Disappointed and now without any company, he became aware of the fact that he felt different. Now feeling overwhelmingly cold even though he'd been fine a moment ago, a shiver ran through his body and his vision began to blur. Abrupt dizziness left him reeling and he closed his eyes in attempts to soothe his overloaded senses.

Oh that felt nice. The sudden darkness felt so warm and relaxing. 

Something was wrong. This wasn't normal was it?

Was it from what this man injected him with?

_'What are you doing to me?'_

Forgetting about the constricting leather strap constricting his mouth he tried to voice his question.

"Mmnn.. nnm... mmfph...?" 

His incoherent words startled him at first, but then he became aware of the scent and feel of leather against his face and he calmed slightly.

Footsteps made their way back over to him and he soon saw a man he didn't recognize leaning over him.

A white man, maybe in his forties judging how his dark brown hair was starting to go gray as well as his beard. He was little darker in complexion than himself due to a prominent suntan. Brown eyes and a hardened face with a scar across his nose.

Muscular biceps were nearly busting out of his uniform the man had to crop the sleeves. Even from his position looking up at him, he could tell the man was well over six foot.

Large hands lowered and he instinctively flinched before they moved to the buckle on the side of the table near his head. 

More small chiming noises sounded by his ear while the metal buckle was tinkered with, the strap tightened momentarily before it loosened completely and it was removed.

When the man's eyes met his curious gaze was silent. 

It was without a single word that this person retreated only to come back with a small glass bottle of something.

"What.... what are you doing to me?" he forced out, his voice came slurred and very small.

The rim of the cool glass was suddenly pressing against his lips and he furrowed his brow at the action, pursing his lips tightly closed and turning his head away.

"Drink this." the man gruffed the order.

When he made no move to comply a strong hand dug fingers into the hollows of his cheeks, squeezing tightly with a crushing pressure until he whined in discomfort.

Slowly his mouth was forced open and the small vial of unknown substance was poured down his throat.

God it tasted horrible! 

He tried to spit it out but the man's hold made it hard and he coughed and sputtered as he resisted.

"Don't fight it." 

Annoyed with how long it was taking with their captive's fighting spirit, long, warm fingers moved to the front of his throat massaging tenderly against spasming flesh to coax his body to swallow.

Eventually it was done and it wasn't long after that Baxter felt a wave of unexplainable calm flood his senses, his body relaxed against the metal of the chair, he was so lost that the didn't even register how his body was sweating despite the chilled shivers that shook him. He also didn't notice how a scratchy quilt was draped over his waist.

"Let's start this simple." he heard that soothing baritone speaking calmly to him.

Fatigue was hitting him hard and he fought to keep his eyes open.

The man pulled up a chair next to him and casually crossing his legs. 

"My name is Joel Ryan Harrison, but they call me Saleel."

"A-American?" he couldn't stop himself from asking.

"No. My parents were though, I have lived my whole life here."

Baxter felt a tickle in his nose and abruptly he sneezed so violently it slammed his head back against the metal causing him to groan.

"Bless you." 

He nodded his thanks despite how his eyelids sagged heavily sleep calling to him.

"And you?" Saleel's voice snapped him back.

"M-Me?" he asked already lost as to what they were talking about.

"Yes, what is your name?"

For some reason the man's tone continued to cease any thought processes he knew he should have.

He had a feeling something was going on but he couldn't comprehend it, thinking was like trudging through a thick fog.

The only thing he really wanted to do was sleep, he didn't want to talk, he was so exhausted.

"Liam..." he answered wearily.

Saleel nodded in approval, but he did ask another again.

"What's your full name?"

He blinked at the older man stupidly, wondering why the hell he wanted such information. 

What was he doing here anyways? 

"Have I... done something wrong-"

"No, no I was curious. It's common courtesy to introduce yourself."

Pondering over the man's words and unable to sense any trickery on his voice he nodded in agreement, "Liam Milo Baxter." 

Saleel flashed him a warm, friendly smile and Baxter couldn't explain why the grin made him feel warm and safe.

"I'm tired..." 

"I know. You have a concussion, that's to be expected." the older man replied.

Too many words. Too fast. The only thing he was able to catch was that he'd been hurt somehow.

"Where's home Liam?"

Home? 

Well home was in London... 

No...

"Irish." he replied softly. 

"Ireland, eh? I take it you can drink like a fiend?"

"No... but my dad can..."

Saleel chuckled softly, he knew this game far too well, worked every time.

All he had to do was start idle talk and from there just the simplest questions could strike an answer.

It was about building trust and keeping fear tactics out for the time being.

That was to come later.

He just had to get the man talking while the Thiopental did the work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. The drug that our poor boy was given was a type of drug used as a 'truth syrum' (Sodium thiopental) to be precise, which we know is super controversial in effects and I had to do a lot of reading on side effects for this. 
> 
> Whew! New chapter soon!
> 
> Yes! I created a middle-name for Baxter (or does the show already mention one please let me know) and I AM NOT SORRY BECAUSE ITS MADE HIM LIKE 300 TIMES CUTER TO ME! THE IDEA OF THIS CUTE LITTLE SHIT'S MIDDLE NAME BEING MILO MAKES ME SO HAPPY BECAUSE I THINK OF A CERTAIN PUG AND AN ORANGE CAT! SO NOW I ASSOCIATE LIAM WITH A CUTE TABBY CAT AND MY LIFE IS SO WONDERFUL NOW!!


	5. Chapter 5

"So I take it you've heard about Baxter?"

Mike met Damien's gaze and they looked at Richard's nervous one.

"Yes ma'am." Michael replied.

"What do you mean by fucking compromised? Compromised as in he's dead or compromised as in he's missing?" Damien snapped impatiently glaring daggers at Dalton through the video feed.

"Compromised as in captured, and God knows what those sick fucks are doing to him, the longer we wait."

* * *

"Do you have any pets Liam?"

Baxter shivered violently he just wanted to sleep.

The mention of pets, for reasons unknown to him at the moment caused a swell of emotion in his chest.

Cleo. Their family cat back in Kerry...

He'd wanted to get a cat again when he was in London but he hadn't been allowed to have one on base... well Dalton was trying to pull some strings.

"I... I want to get a cat..."

Another sneeze came bursting forth, this time he sprayed a bit of blood forward and he groaned miserably.

"So, you like cats?"

"Yes..."

A wet rag was being dabbed gently at his bloody nose and he was too exhausted to protest.

"Mm... so do I. Very independent things but also at times affectionate. Not as much cling compared to man's best friend."

"Yes." he agreed simply just wanting the man to stop talking.

Brown eyes were gentle but a the same time had some... thing else beneath them that rattled Liam slightly.

"They can also be quite sneaky. Something I've heard you can relate to?"

Sneaky? Him?

Well... not really....

"I don't know what you mean..." he voiced his head drooping slightly towards his chest.

"That's alright we can come back to that later.

A firm hand carefully tilted his face back up, no wiping away blood from his lip.

Where the hell was he?

"Do you like to write Liam?"

A violent tremor ran up his spine and he let out an involuntary whimper.

Everything hurt.

Like stories... no, not really... he like numbers and technology better...

Wearily he shook his head.

Saleel grinned inwardly. _'Got him.'_

"Really? That's too bad, I find writing to be a good creative output. I write poetry myself."

This gruff looking man? Writing poetry?

In the back of his mind he remembered a book he had read a long time ago, about a boy raised by his brothers who was torn the middle of a gang war or something.

Joel grabbed a roll of bandages of the tray next to him and moved to his left ankle. A sharp pain shot through him at the gentle prodding fingers and he jerked his foot away slightly with a hiss.

"The... The Outsiders...."

Joel looked at him and lifted a curious eyebrow, "What was that?"

"By... Hinton... or something... I-I liked that book..."

The man nodded idly finishing up his work on Baxter's ankle.

When the silence started to eat at Liam so he finally offered again, "I-I like photography..."

Sitting back in his chair and studying him carefully Saleel pulled out his phone from his pocket much to Baxter's confusion.

"Do you like computers?" the man asked.

Shivering he let his eyes slide closed briefly before slowly blinking them back open.

"I... yes... I-I mean sometimes..."

The phone was suddenly thrust into his face and he struggled, but managed to make out a picture of a com device beside a blood speckled laptop.

Wait… was that his laptop?

Why was there blood all over it?

Another picture was swiped onto and it was of a laptop that looked like one for work... there were files a stack of classified documents folders beside it.

* * *

It had been two days since they were dragged from their vacation to fix the mess Dalton created in the amount of time they'd been gone.

Poor Baxter.

The kid was still getting used to fieldwork. He'd only been out a handful of times and most of those missions he and Michael had been on.

Never had he had to work solely with Dalton.

Why the hell did that bitch decide to take him on this mission?

Hopefully he was still alive, but he was very doubtful.

Even if he was, Dalton let them know that they could be expecting them. From what Kamali said, it sounded like they planned to use Sergeant Baxter as bait after they interrogated him.

That usually meant ransom, trade, or a trap.

Now as he and Michael crawled through the tall grass atop the small hill about a mile or so away from an abandoned oil refinery that Richmond had tracked the GPS on Baxter's com to, he was determined to get their friend out alive.

He peered over at Mike as the man grabbed his binoculars.

"You think he's still alive Mikey?" he asked as the Brit peered through the field viewer.

"Fuck if I know, mate. Hope so. Look there, those two there are arguing... and judging by all the fresh blood on that asshole… I wouldn't be surprised if he's an interrogator."

* * *

"Please... please... I don't know! I-I... what else you want me to say...! Please..."

Saleel slammed his fist on the steel head rest right by his ear and he failed to choke back a sob. Tears ran down his bruised and blood covered face.

Things had been fine the first day but two days ago is when they'd started trying to beat it out of him.

They’d been torturing him for hours well over 48 hours, and the methods had been brutal.

So far he’d had the snot beat out of him with steel toed boots and fists, he’d been raped again twice in fact, electrocuted with jumper cables, stabbed, cut, strangled, and burned with a blow torch and cigarettes had been put out against flesh.

The cigarette burns were the worst of it. Most of them had been put out against his inner thigh and genitals… but one sick fuck had taken it too far, putting one out when he’d inserted it, lit end down, inside his urethra after having worked him to hardness.

Oh god the pain… it was unbearable and they had never removed it which had caused the organ to become quite red and inflamed.

They’d broken toes, fingers, and he was pretty sure he had multiple broken ribs.

Anyone would crack after such an ordeal… that’s what he told himself in some desperate form of comfort.

Weak. He felt weak.

Stonebridge and Scott would never say a thing. Michael sure didn’t with Matlock’s men.

He on the other hand, he’d told them everything already besides the names of his comrades, and any leads that he and the major had gotten, not that either them had any to give. They had hit so many dead ends.

They seemed to think he knew more, but he was at his breaking point, he was so tired, he hadn't slept for four days, and they were keeping him drugged 24/7.

"Please..."

Furious brown eyes bored into his and he struggled to swallow the lump that had risen in his throat.

Saleel turned around and stomped over to a wall of drawers that had several tools hanging above it on a shadow board.

The man yanked open one of the drawers and began to rummage around in it for several moments, he could hear metal clanking about as the man dug through them.

"Well Liam, if you don't want to talk to me anymore, that's your choice. I've gotten enough out of you as it is."

Liam swallowed nervously at the terrorist's dark tone and he strained weakly against the restraints as Joel found what he was apparently looking for.

There were some audible clicking noises, like the sound of a dial winding something up, and when the man turned around he was mortified to see him holding something that resembled a grenade with slotted holes in it.

Customized maybe?

Either way, a grenade was a grenade!

"N-No... please I-I’ve told you everything…!" he tried urgently as Saleel came to stand beside him.

“Open your mouth.”

He stared blinking at the man in absolute horror, tears trickled down his battered cheeks and he shook his head pleadingly.

“I said open your mouth.”

Baxter pursed his lips tightly together but the strong man easily remedied the disobedience with a forceful, brutal hand that forced him to obey.

"Pls 'op! 'O-ont! N-Nu-agmphh!"

Saleel crammed the rather large object past his bloodied lips, using some force and Liam was sobbing, his whole body trembling with more than the effects of the truth serum at this point.

Once the man was satisfied with the crude gag's placement, he made his way back to the drawer from before and pulled out another grenade with the same look.

"These, are my own creation. I've modified them, don't worry there's no explosive powder in them."

He twisted something, a thin band of metal that had been added onto the grenade’s middle, then he pulled down and twisted again.

Much to Baxter's surprise, four sharp two or three centimeter length spikes shot out from holes that opened up, it reminded him of a hedgehog.

_'Wait... oh god!!'_

"It sets on a timer and yours should be going off right about-" he paused looking at his watch.

Another clicking noise sounded and Baxter flinched as he felt multiple sharp objects embedding into his flesh. Into his tongue, cheeks, his upper lip in front of his nostrils, even the soft flesh underneath his chin.

“-now.” the man finished and peered up at him from his watch.

He sat too shocked by the unnatural feeling for several seconds before the pain finally hit him and when it did he was wailing uncontrollably in excruciating agony!

Then he blacked out.

* * *

Damien's heart fell into his stomach as soon as he and Michael ran into the room.

They'd killed roughly 40 men or so, the last one had come from this room with an AK-47 blaring.

Mike had recognized him as the man who he assumed could be a torture specialist.

Judging by what they found in the next room the man was right.

Sergeant Baxter was strapped down to a metal chair, completely nude, and covered in blood, contusions, burns, and lacerations varying in size and color.

His left ankle was swollen and pulsating around a stab wound that went clean through flesh and out the other side.

Between his legs Damien could see blood and--he swallowed-- something else... dribbling down his thighs.

Those sick fucks.

Cigarette burns had been pressed into his genitals and Damien almost vomited when he could see the tan end of a cigarette sticking out of the poor man's urethra.

Hopefully that hadn't been lit.

Unable to take the sight of it he took a deep breath and moved forward averting his eyes from lingering as he gently eased the foreign object from Baxter's pisshole.

Liam let out a garbled moan and his body wiggled slightly against the leather belts that held him down. Blood began to seep from the abused organ as soon as the blockage was removed.

"Good fucking God..." Michael muttered taking a step forward.

The whole right side of his face was swollen, blue and purple, the skin across his eye was blackened and peeling to reveal red bloody flesh.

His nose had dried and fresh blood dripping from it, and there was a metal spike that went clean through his lip and stuck out of the skin before his nose.

Metal spike?

Yeah, there were four of them

Two piercing out of of his cheeks through punctures made on the inside of his mouth, and one that actually sprouted from the soft tender flesh beneath his jaw.

What the hell?

"Mikey what are those...?" Scott's voice reached his ears.

Michael shook his head not quite knowing himself, he did however raise Baxter's chin a little to get a better look. Immediately the man jumped back dragging Damien with him both men tumbled to the floor.

Confused by his friend's behavior Damien couldn't help himself.

"What the fuck Mike!?"

"He has a fucking grenade in his mouth, Scott!"

A strangled sob sounded and both men ceased their bickering to look up.

Baxter had woken from their shouting though he seemed very out of it.

Michael stood backing up a tad before he spoke.

"Baxter, is that thing live mate?"

The poor man just continued sob and groan miserably.

They weren't going anywhere if the couldn't calm their comrade's hysteria.

Boom or no boom.

"Oh fuck me..."

Swallowing nervously Damien stepped forward, approaching cautiously despite the fact that Stonebridge tried to pull him back.

Baxter's eyes were wide, well one of them, his right eye couldn't open very well due to the badly swollen skin, and his pupils were tiny dots.

"Hey buddy, it's Stonebridge and Scott."

The guy was struggling to breathe correctly with the explosive device stuffed into his mouth and the kid's nostrils flared desperately as he tried to make up for it.

Damien was pretty sure Michael about shit himself when he reached out and took hold of Sergeant Baxter's face with delicate hands.

The poor man wailed, blood dribbling out from behind the spiked explosive and trickling down his lips and chin.

Of course then came the waterworks and Damien just felt his heart breaking when he saw tears and bloodied snot running down his battered dirty face.

"Baxter, it's Scott. Oh fuck man, it's okay, look at me - no, no hey..."

Mike eyed the situation warily, that grenade had no pin. It should have gone off already... right?

Hesitantly he approached the chair from the side so he could inspect their man's wounds.

Michael noticed how Baxter’s eyes immediately shot to look at him, and oh God did they look terrified… and very drugged.

The younger man let out an panicked shout as he stared at him and Michael felt his own chest constrict tightly.

Damien was still trying to get through to him. "It's okay. We're gonna get you outta here… shh… hey,”

Knowing from personal experience, or somewhat it wasn’t to this degree, Mike knew that if Sergeant Baxter’s wounds were severe enough be them physical or mental, the poor man was going to be scared of anything and everything.

His guess was it was some sort of barbiturate and that mixed with trauma was not good, he could be hallucinating, not to mention he was probably absolutely wild with pain.

“He's drugged... pumped full of shit, look at his eyes.”

The American peered into the man’s very wide and very wet stare, then tipped his chin up carefully, being mindful of the sharp metal that protruded from wounded flesh.

“Ah, they gave you the good shit, huh? You know who I am though, yeah?”

Baxter’s groggy, drug hazed eyes stared back up, flitting back and forth as they scanned his face.

“We wanna get you outta here mate. I know you’re fucking miserable right now, but we gotta move.” Michael offered as the younger man continued to stare.

Damien inched a little closer peering into those pale green hazy pools, “Liam, blink once if you understand."

One blink.

Stonebridge gestured toward the device obscuring the man’s speech, “That, in your mouth, mate. Is it live?”

Two blinks.

Both men simultaneously let out a sigh of relief. Damien began to inspect the thing and Michael got to work untying their comrade from the steel chair.

“What the fuck is this thing…?” Scott grumbled, running his finger over a thin band of metal.

“Clearly it’s a modified grenade, or are you fucking blind.”

“Oh fuck off.” Damien growled applying some pressure on the band with his thumb.

A clicking was accompanied by the sound of ripping flesh and a pained scream from the younger sergeant.

The spikes had retracted and it took both men a second to recover their bearings,

“Scott! Quick! Get that out of him before it goes off again.” Michael snarled the command and it had the American snapping from his surprise and strong hands were grabbing at Baxter’s jaw.

The poor man sobbed around the device and he let out a pained whine as Damien began to ease the metal free carefully supporting his jaw with his other hand as he did so.

“I know buddy, I know… fucking hell man, I’m sorry, being as careful as I can.”

Michael got the leg restraints off but he didn’t dare release the man’s arms until Damien was finished, the thing was wedged tight and kept getting caught on Liam’s teeth.

After a couple seconds he finally had the thing out and he tossed it angrily against the wall, their tortured companion started to heave violently, blood propelling like projectiles from his mouth as he vomited up a bunch of red.

Damien pushed sweaty locks of hair from Baxter’s forehead when the man just started sobbing hysterically. “Easy mate, we got you, we got you man.”

Mike unbuckled bruised wrists from the steel and almost immediately the man shot up, or tried to. Arms raised and looped tight around the neck and shoulders of a surprised Scott, where he just broke down against the American.

Alarmed, not used to seeing the younger sergeant in such a state Damien was stock still for a moment before he could make out words that were badly impaired from injury, but still words.

_‘Help me’ ‘Please’ ‘Hurts’ _

Swallowing thickly he returned the embrace, uttering a gentle reassurance as Stonebridge watched idly from the side.

This was going to be hell.


	6. Chapter 6

“Bravo Two to Zero."

_'Go ahead Bravo.'_

"Copy that. Sergeant Baxter has been recovered but we need an immediate med evac." 

_'Roger that. I will send them your way.' _

Michael turned his attention back to Scott who was still trying to calm their distraught comrade down.

Baxter sneezed a couple times spraying blood from a nostril and causing a bit of bloodied drool to drip from his mouth.

"We gotta move Scott." 

"Yeah, I know. Give me a sec, see if you can find something for him to wear.." 

Gently Damien tried to pry Baxter off of him, meeting pale green eyes that were so full of tears and blood from broken blood vessels.

"Baxter, we gotta go. We're not safe here man. You're not gonna be going anywhere fast with that ankle." 

His eyes became as wide as plates and he grabbed at him desperately. 

"No... No! Please... d-don't... don't leave me here! I want to go home!" his slurred and somewhat disoriented voice pitched up a couple octaves, and his words were badly mangled from the wounds in his mouth. 

Gaping in surprise at the younger sergeant's words Damien quickly shook his head, "What!? Oh fuck me. No man! We're not going to fucking leave you. Dammit Bax, no, we're getting you out of here."

A hoodie was suddenly tossed at Damien's face when Michael approached and he caught it with ease, staring at it for a second.

"Tie it around his waist, dipshit." Michael grumbled.

"Oh fuck off."

He did what Mike told him, he trying to ignore how Baxter initially tried to struggle away from him when his hands moved to position the hoodie over his privates, clearly having thought he was going to assault him like the fuckers who'd done this to him.

"Baxter, hey man, come on we need to leave. Arms around me, I'm going to pick you up."

Baxter just stared for a second and it was Stonebridge who cut through the silence with an amused chortle.

"Liam Milo Baxter. Your middle name's Milo?" 

Glancing over his shoulder he saw Mike had a clip board that he was reading.

"Thiopental. 1 gram to be administered every eight hours." 

"What is that?"

Michael un-clipped the papers and folded them.

"A bloody record of their interrogation tactics. Might be useful for the doctors, yeah?" the Brit replied as he tucked the papers into his breast pocket.

Nodding he turned back to their companion and repeated what he said earlier.

"Baxter, arms around me. Let's go." 

Trembling arms lifted to wrap around the back of his neck and shoulders. 

Sliding an arm beneath the man's legs and the other his back, Damien hoisted the smaller man up with a grunt.

Baxter yelped loudly at the action, he must have hit a sore spot. 

He hushed the Brit softly and soon the kid was speaking again.

"Major... I... want a cat..." 

Both Scott and Stonebride exchanged glances.

"A cat?" 

"A tabby cat... I'll name him Thomas..." 

Scott chuckled giving the disoriented man a nod of approval. 

"Baxter, when we get home I am buying you the tabbyist tabby we can find."

"I'd say he bloody earned it." Mike agreed. 

Another violent sneeze erupted from Baxter, who went quiet afterward, minus the way his chest rattled as he breathed.

Sparing a quick glance he noticed the droopy look to his eyes, he looked like he was about to fall asleep.

Poor man probably hadn't slept in days.

"Hey mate, we need you to stay awake." Mikey told him, sharing a concerned glance with Damien when the man passed out anyways. __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Damien felt nauseated as he looked over the folded papers that Stonebridge had obtained.

The list of things that they had done to Sergeant Baxter was as terrifying as it was extensive.

It was disgustingly detailed too.

Horribly morbid things... some of them had already been obvious when they'd found him.

They'd beat him until every single rib in his body had broken and he struggled to breath properly. Which might explain the rattling in his chest.

A blow torch and cigarettes were used to burn his body. 

They'd hooked him up to a car battery and shocked the shit out of him for roughly an hour.... 

They'd waterboarded him for a solid six hours and only stopped because their captive's belly had become distended with all the water that'd been forced into him and with the broken ribs the interrogator didn't want to take the risk of the broken bones tearing into organs.

So he got to rest at least until the swelling in his abdomen went down.

They sexually assaulted him twice, or so the record said, he had a feeling it was more than that. The dates of the record seemed to stop at yesterday's date, not bothering to keep track... god knew what else they did to him. 

"He's in bad shape. We need to get him to the closest hospital." the med evac stated urgently.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Beep... beep... beep.....

the sound of the heart monitor hooked up to Baxter's unconscious body was unnerving and also driving Damien nuts as he paced the room.

It had seemed like forever, waiting in that tiny ass waiting room for the doctor to give them the go ahead to see him. He was unconsciious when they got there, sedated because he'd been unable to calm down enough to let them assess his injuries. 

_'That and likely exhaustion.'_ Damien thought bitterly.

"Frankly, I'm stunned that your 'cousin' is still alive." the head doctor in charge of Baxter's care revealed to them as he came into the room with a clipboard with a few papers on it.

"Third degree burn on his face, two on his body, another one inside his urethra. Numerous second degree burns on his inner thighs and genitals that appear to be from cigarettes and a blow torch."

"Right orbital fracture and a skull fracture both from blunt force trauma. Deep puncture wounds in his cheeks, tongue, face, and bottom jaw."

"His stomach is damaged the lining in his gut has several small tears that will require surgery to fix. He's got a worsening case of pneumonia."

"All his ribs are broken along with his collarbone, left shoulder blade, three fingers, six toes, and broken jaw. He's got high traces of top grade barbiturates in his system." 

The doctor paused as he shifted some things on his clipboard.

“There is another thing that strikes us as odd but we don't know what to make of it.”

Damien frowned, “What sort of thing?” 

“A foreign object in his stomach. Rather large to have been swallowed but judging by the lack of any surgical incisions and signs of prior strain to his esophagus, I'd say that this must be how it got there.” 

The American stared at the ground in thought. 

Something in his stomach? 

"Gentlemen, I don't know what your lines of expertise are, but I have seen enough torture victims in my years here as a surgeon to recognize this as some sort of military interrogation."

Damien swallowed thickly, dammit they were busted.

"Frankly, I shouldn't have allowed you in here with him at all. I know you are not relatives, the only reason you are still in this room is because I want to make it very, very clear that this is not a place I want firefights. I know you men are armed."

"Oy, weren't not the bad guys here mate." Michael huffed.

"I didn't say you were. I am just pointing out that I will ask you to disarm yourselves, but I will ask that you leave any situations should they arrive to security." 

Mike frowned at the words and Damien responded before the Brit could say the wrong thing."Of course we will, we appreciate it. The sooner we can get him back home the better, our med evac just needs him stable enough for the flight. The last thing we want is to put people at risk." 

The old doctor looked at him over his glasses and nodded.

"I agree with you, unfortunately he will be being prepped for emergency surgery." 

Damien sat forward in his chair, alarm was clearly evident on his handsome face.

"Your friend is going to need to undergo a handful of surgeries son. To fix the damage done to his insides, treat the wounds on his face, the damage to his ankle if we can even repair it-”

He trailed off when another doctor quickly hustled into the room and ran to him.

“Doctor, I need to speak with you urgently!” 

Michael and Damien exchanged bewildered expressions watching as the doctor hurried out of the room.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was about twenty something minutes until the old man returned and he had a frustrated yet deeply unsettled and concerned look in his eyes.

“Gentlemen, I am afraid I have some bad news.” 

Oh God… Baxter was dead.

When neither of them said anything the doctor continued.

“Your comrade has a bomb in his stomach.”

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by AgtSpooky's fic - Triple Play - https://archiveofourown.org/works/20603294
> 
> The gaming Baxter idea was inspired by Aecrimony's fic here - https://archiveofourown.org/works/11332899
> 
> This will be a slow work in-progress as I need to get a boxset so I can watch the series! ;_; Bare with me!


End file.
